Submission - The Initiation

You ask me to trust you. You ask me to surrender myself to you. I love you, but I'd always maintained a personal space inside my mind, a place where nothing can touch me, and you ask me to let you in. I want to, I really do, but that's my core. That's Me. Inviolable. 

One step at a time, you tell me. 

You switch the lights on. I know how I look naked. I know every inch of my body. But us, together and naked, is new. It's alien. I look at our entwined bodies - your head propped up on one hand, facing me; your hand resting on my breast; your legs scissored in mine; your cock nudging my slit. Seeing this in the bright florescent light somehow heightens my sensation, impresses upon me how natural it is. You have broken a barrier inside me. It's still just one. 

You rise up, and pull me up along with you. I not sure what you have in mind. All I've got eyes for is your naked form, leading me, holding my hand. You take me into the bathroom, and step into the shower. I feel kinky already. 

The rapid, cold shower makes me shiver involuntarily. I press against your warm body. You hold me there. I've never bathed together with someone before. Even in gyms, I seek out a private booth to shower, avoiding the unabashedly public showers. The water running over my face makes it hard for me to breath, and you pull me into a rough kiss that makes it even harder. 

The water intrudes upon our privacy. Like a perverted voyeur, it trickles into places most private. By the time the water slides down our tangled bodies, it's pleasantly warm. 

You hand me a bar of soap, and tell me to lather myself up. I giggle. Memories of a long forgotten childhood bubbles up. I do as you say. I rub the lather over my body and in my crevices. A simple and routine task that has become very difficult with you watching me. Your eyes follow my hands everywhere. I drop the soap in the tub out of nerves. I bend down to retrieve it, and I'm greeted my your hardened cock. It stands proud just inches from my face. I abandon my attempt to find the soap. I look up instead. There's hunger in your eyes. Or was it just a reflection of my own? 

It feels so natural, like I have done this before, like I have always done this. I wrap a hand around your shaft and without a second thought slip the head of your cock into my mouth. It is hot. I don't get to taste you much, just a hint of saltiness before the water washes your precum away. I squeeze and pump with my hand while I flick my tongue over the purple head. I don't know what I'm doing but it seems to pleasure you. I continue, amazed at myself. Soon we strike up a rhythm - my lips suck the head while my hands keep stroking. As we pick up pace, I grab your thigh for support. You are losing it. You begin to jerk your hips, thrusting hard into my mouth. Without warning, you grab the back of my head, and take control. You set the pace, it's fast, and hard. I release your cock and place my other hand on your thigh for support. 

You literally fuck my mouth. I try to accommodate your gridth and try not to hurt you with my teeth. But you seem beyond caring at this point. You have completely given yourself away to the beast within. I relish the effect I have on you. You revealing yourself, the truth behind the mask of civility. It's flattering that you show this to me and at the same time I feel fear. I'm at the mercy of the beast now. 

You are in charge and all I can do now is hang on hard. One final thrust, it goes in deep. I almost choke as you hit the back of my throat. Hot spurts fill my mouth with each spasm of your cock. It's sweet, and yet sour at the same time. The texture is strange, like the soft kernel of a tender coconut. I let it ooze out of my mouth. You don't notice me rinse my mouth in the shower. You are still breathing hard from the encounter. 

I feel elated. I had done something I've never done before, and judging by your reaction, you enjoyed it. You've broken yet another barrier inside my mind. The idea of Us is slowly cementing inside my mind. 

(to be cont...) 

My Session With You

It's your domain, and I chose to walk in on my own volition. I know I forfeit any right the moment I enter, and yet that is exactly what I crave. You don't smile; it's not a game for you, and your saturnian demeanour impresses upon me the depths that I have dared to enter. 

You make me remove everything I wear, watching with those dark eyes, capturing my every moment. I meet your eyes, a little defiant, a little proud. I do have a great body. But as I proceed to remove my wedding ring, you stop me. You make me slip it back on. You brook no sass, I knew that. I knew that all along. I lower my eyes. 

You move in. 

All throughout the session, I am aware of the slightly dull gold ring. It burns me with the shame as I let you subject me to your brand of sadism. It's a reminder of all the things I shouldn't do and yet I do. It's a reminder of all the things that I turned my back on, even if only for this night. And this reminder let's me experience this decadence that much more clearly. 

The Soother

     Tiffany took each step with both dread and relief; they were defiant in that they refused to yield to the dread. He backpack weighed twice as much as she walked into the park. She pulled out her phone and checked the time on the home-screen. Elsa of Frozen smiled encouragingly at her while the digital clock above her head displayed 10 : 30 am. She would have been in English class if she hadn't decided to play the truant.

    She walked aimlessly around trying to decide what she ought to do if someone called her on the mobile. But so far no call came. Maybe they thought she was at home on a sick leave. Straight 'A' students don't skive. But there she was loitering in the near empty park. No one paid any attention to her, not the hobo who was lying in one of the benches, whistling a tune to himself, nor the park employee who pushed along a garbage can filled with leaves and twigs.

Tiffany revelled in the anonymity, but she was also scared that she might be taken advantage of. So she took off along a footpath that lead to the small lake. This time of the year it would be drained and no one would bother being there. She never did.

     As she anticipated, the pond was nearly empty save a small pond in the middle. She walked along the squishy mud that once formed the lake bed looking for a place to wait out the school day. Thinking about the school brought out her fears. Would she be expelled? Would she lose a grade for not turning in the essay on time? 

     The stupid essay that brought her here. It was supposed to be extra credits. She should have refused she reckoned it but it was too late now. Saying that the wind blew away her papers sounded stupid even to her, even though that was exactly what had happened. It was her beast of a little brother's fault, him and his stupid water gun. Her mom did not even punish him. She sided with, saying that he was just little boy and besides she could rewrite it all again. She did just that and had to cancel a date with Matt, which in turn made him mad. It was unfair that everyone wanted so much from her. She had given up on the essay mid way through and had slumped on her bed with a throbbing headache. 

     Tiffany found a small niche by the banks. It would have been impossible to get to it had the lake been full. She dropped her bag there and sat down. She was debating whether she ought to send a message to Patty, telling her where she was but thought better of it. Secrecy had never been her best friend's strong suit. Is she messaged her, she'd probably text her mom about what she had done. 

     "Hello." 

     Tiffany jumped at the voice. It was a girl, about her age and a little shorter than her but somehow, the new comer managed to look rangy. Maybe it was her tattered jeans or maybe it was the guitar bag slung over her back.

     "That's my spot. Care to scoot over a bit?"

     Tiffany was still ogling at the girl. She seemed oddly familiar and especially her voice. 

    "Umm.. sure." She gathered her bag and set it aside, making room for the girl. 

    "Do I know you?" The girl asked. "Oh, wait. You are that kid who won the district quiz competition for our school, right?"

     Tiffany stared. It was not good. This girl knew her. What if she babbled?

     "I'm Jane, by the way."

     "I'm Tiffany."

     "So what brings you to my hideout, Tiff?"

   Tiff? Only her friends called her that, but given the circumstances she decided to let it slide. 

     "Nothin'."

     "Yeah, right."

     Tiffany was trying to place the girl when the guitar jolted her memory. She remembered her. Jane was her senior at school. She was the girl who clobbered the music teacher for getting a little comfortable with her or so she alleged. The music teacher had said that he was trying to teach her how to hold the guitar properly when she went berserk on him. And given her history, everyone sided with the music teacher.

     Jane slid out a pack of cigarettes from her jeans pocket and stuck one in her mouth and offered one for Tiffany.

     "No, I don't smoke."

     "Mind if I do?"

     Tiffany was struck by her consideration. 

     "Actually, I can't stand the smoke," she said apologetically.

    "No point in breathing in second hand smoke and suffering if you're not gonna get the pleasure of nicotine." Jane stuffed the cigarette back in its case and put it back in her pocket. 

     "I know who you are too," Tiffany said eyeing the guitar.

     "Yeah? That was last year."

     "So um... did you actually hit him with it?"

    "Not with this baby. It's too precious to bash his head in with. I used one the school's."

     "Did he er... you know?"

    "That son of a bitch was feeling my boobs. Was I supposed to let that prick paw me?"

     They sat in silence for a while. Tiffany sensed Jane work away her anger.

     "So, what brings you here?"

     "I er... I have an unfinished essay that's due today."

     Jane laughed. " That was it? A paper you didn't turn-in on time?"

    Tiffany's face went red. She looked away and pretended to be interested in the ant that was scurrying up a tree trunk. What does she know about how she I feel? The constant pressure to be the best, to be good, to be reliable; it was all too much. She hadn't had time for herself these past few months. She was either busy with school work or she was busy helping her friends with their assignments. Even at home she had little time of her own. Even the latest Janet Evanovich book she had bought last week lay untouched on top of her book shelf. Jane would never understand, she wasn't bothered about college or her career like Tiffany was. 

      "Feel overwhelmed, do ya?" 

     Again the girl surprised Tiffany. Was she that obvious?

     "A little," Tiffany conceded.

     "Well,  I've the perfect remedy for that."

     "Huh.. What's that?"

     "Do trust me?"

    Tiffany was divided. Obviously Jane had something that was not exactly proper on her mind, she still nodded. 

     "'Kay. Close your eyes."

     Tiffany did as she was told, nothing new to her.

     "No peeking." 

     An unnecessary warning, if Tiffany knew anything better than her studies, it was obedience.

     Tiffany opened her eyes with a start; Jane's had placed a hand on her thigh.

     Jane smirked and said, "Relax, girly, and close your eyes."

    The hand remained on the thigh but Tiffany didn't do anything to remove it. Emboldened Jane slid the hand around to her inner thigh. Tiffany's lips parted. The tender touch of another person was more than welcome. She had forgotten how good it felt when Matt felt her up.

     The hand inched a little higher, Tiffany felt it rest so very close to her sex. The warmth from Jane's hand set up a chain reaction in Tiffany. She was heating up and fast. And then with the slightest of movement Jane brushed her index finger over Tiffany's crotch; the touch arrived distilled through the  jeans onto her pussy. Tiffany gasped. Jane took that as a consent and started stroking the inner thigh and between those strokes she would occasionally run her index over the entire length of her crotch.

    Tiffany's mind halted; worries of her unfinished school work, the curfew, the annoying brother, the needy boyfriend, and her demanding friends just disappeared. At that moment all that existed was the hand that was stroking her, building her heat. She turned and looked right into Jane's eyes, her expression questioning. Jane merely smiled, not the lewd smirk of a sexual predator who found that her prey was a slutty bitch, but one of compassion instead, it seemed to say that she understood, she had been there and soon it will all be alright. Tiffany's doubts vanished.

   Jane moved closer to Tiffany and made her lean back on her chest and rested her head on her shoulder. One hand snaked around Tiffany's waist pulling her closer. The other hand continued to caress Tiffany's thighs. Jane gently massaged Tiffany's breasts, alternating between the two. Tiffany clenched her jaws and stifled a moan. The ground was hard beneath her but the clean, soft feel of the girl behind her invited her to press in even closer. Jane undid the button on the jeans and slipped a hand in towards her hot core. The fingers were cool against her hot skin. The soft massaging of the breasts turned a little rough but that only sent intense heat and pleasure coursing through her body.

 

    Tiffany took a sharp gasp as Jane slipped her hand beneath the waistband of her panties and reached the soft sprinkle of pubic hair. The fingers forged through them and reached the nether lips. Tiffany throbbed with need. With an ever so slightly undulation of her hips she sought out the fingers that invaded her, fitting herself with the curve of the cupped fingers. But Jane stilled Tiffany with her other hand and she started to massage her down there. In the constrained space within the crotch of a tight jeans, every small movement managed to touch all the sensitive spots. The heel of the palm serviced the clit gently while the fingers had parted the lips and rubbed the well lubricated pussy. 

  Tiffany let Jane's fingers play her like a guitar, each touch eliciting a different melody from her. The pace increased, giving Tiffany little time to catch her breath. She was lost in the sensations that kept one step ahead of her, keeping her guessing. The music was reaching a crescendo under Jane's direction. Sparks erupted all over Tiffany as she came hard, drenching her panties and jeans. She reclined on Jane who was still stroking at a languid pace, composing an end to her music. 

    Tiffany came to her senses shortly. The full import of the exchange hit her hard. She turned and looked beseechingly at Jane. 

     "This was just a one-off deal," Jane said.

     "Um.. Thank you."

    "You should learn to say no to people, or else they will trod all over ya,"  Jane said as she wiped her finger on Tiffany's jeans. "Feel better?"

      "Yeah." Tiffany smiled.

    "So, what are ya still hanging around here for? Go on, get back to school. It's noodles on Mondays. You don't want to miss that."

***

     Tiffany later reminisced the whole incident at the park. It had changed her in more ways than she cared to admit. Jane had said it was just an one time favour, but Tiffany sensed that it might not be the case. She smiled at the little discovery she made that day.

Sunday Morning

     I wake up to a warmth that cups my balls, I stir, but I don't open my eyes.

     "Guess what? I found my eggs," Wen chirps, "but they are all shrunken."

     "And whose fault is that?" I mumble into the thick mattress.

     My cock stays limp even with her skilled ministrations. It must definitely annoy her. I smile into the bed, still unwilling to get up and greet Easter.

     "You know, there's a way to get me all nice and hard."

     "Huh? What's that?"

     I reach out and trace a finger on her lips.

     "Fat chance. You have no idea the..."

     I place my finger on her lips, silencing her little lecture about hygiene which I'm sure would've progressed into a full blown seminar on microbiology. I pull her closer to lie beside me and kiss her lightly on the lips.

     Usually, I laze around in bed till noon on Sundays, catching up on all the missed hours of sleep during the weekdays. I rise my head to glance at the digital clock whose alarm whose snooze button has borne the burnt of my ire every morning. It's just nine. I hear a car pull out from the driveway next door. Pious bunch, my neighbours. I return my attention to Wen. She's still stroking my shrunken cock, her head nestled below my chin. I like her persistence. But she's fighting a lost cause.

     She's greedy. It was just last night that I pumped all my reserve into her and I might have lasted a little longer if she hadn't squeezed me with her PC in sync with my withdraws. It got the underside of my sensitive head so damn well. Of course we went at it four times (or was it five?). The point is, I'm dry this morning. If she had tried her magic fingers a little earlier, then she might have found me rising to the occasion, literally.

     Oh, well. If she's this horny then I can maybe seduce her into it. I still her hands with mine. She looks up and meets my eyes, enquiringly. I just kiss her. I try not to think about how stale my mouth would taste to her. I pull back and slide a lower till my mouth is at her breasts. I give the puckered nipple a slight lick and blow cool air over it. She shrinks back from the sensation. I move in and take her entire breast into my mouth. With steady strokes of my tongue and suction of my mouth, I soon have her holding my head tight against her.

     I nudge her over onto her back and climb over, working away on the other breast, while my fingers takeover the first one. She still hasn't lost focus on my cock, as she uses her knee to rub me down there. I pray that she doesn't crush my nuts. That would be such a dampener.

     I slide lower, flicking my tongue over her navel. My hands rest on her hips, and such nice ones she has too. Smooth and a little fleshy. I squeeze her with me hands. She rises her bottom and rubs herself on my chest. Patience, Wen.

     I move further down. I can sense her tense up. She has this silly rule about oral which is - absolutely not! Maybe being a doctor puts you off of certain aspects of sex. Anyway I'm convinced that it's just her own self consciousness that prevents her from letting me greet her snatch with my mouth or vice versa.

     She cranes her neck to look down at me. Our eyes meet. Some of the most meaningful exchanges we had were in silence. This one's no different. I read reluctance and lust, while I convey reassurance and confidence. She let's her head fall back to the pillow. A 'go ahead' sign.

     She parts her legs a little wider. No matter how many times I have seen her, the sight just sends primal hunger rippling through me. The filtered light coming in through the curtains glints off the tiny golden hair that flecks her abdomen. They are in complete contrast with the dark cropped hair the cover her snatch. She isn't too keen on letting a sharp blade scrape her skin and goes as far as to suggest that I just trim and not clean shave. This is one of the areas that I defy her. But I know that she prefers me clean shaven. Heck, I prefer me clean shaven.

     I run my fingers across her prickly not-so-dense bush. Her stomach quivers in anticipation. That is a sight that I could keep staring at for ever. I tear my eyes from the soft belly and focus on the snatch. I can smell my self on her, that familiar faint smell of a fruit whose name I can't place. She sure drained me last night. 

     I move my fingers to peel apart her nether lips, a glistening pink flesh greets me. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I dip in. She shudders at the initial contact. I lick her folds, slow, long ones with the flat of my tongue. More shudders and gasps, they work like a enchantment on me, egging me further. I find her pleasure centre, now more accessible as she blossoms like a flower. I suck it, pressing my face even harder into her. She squirms, as I continue teasing her with my lips and tongue. I sense she's about to climax. The familiar twitch and tightening of the muscles in her abdomen and thighs. I plunge a finger into her to hasten her release. She bucks her hips unabashedly into my face as the pleasure rocks her. I grab onto her bottom and hold her tighter to me, my mind on a singular pursuit of extracting it all from her. 

     She slowly subsides and falls back onto the bed. I nudge her tired thighs apart and settle myself in between them. I'm hard again. Her soft gasps and whimpering had charmed my cock into rigid attention. I slip into her with such an ease that I'm sure had it been any other time she'd have blushed at her wantonness. She doesn't try her her clever tricks today. I guess she was exhausted. After a few thrusts, she reached out with her arms to embrace me, but I'm kneeling as I pound into her. She clutches air and lets her hands fall back, they resort to clenching the bed sheet. I place my palm right above her womb, I can feel my cock sliding in and out of her. I watch her closed eyes and parted lips, the way her breasts sway in tandem to my strokes. I don't think I can last much longer.

     I feel the sensation building up at the base of my spine. I increase my speed. I shift my hands to a spot beside her chest for better support. I'm nearly there. My leaning forward rubs her clit, and she too joins me in the mad rush to go over the edge again. A few more plunges and I go rigid as I shoot blanks into her. It's a little painful but worth it. She comes a little later to the gentler after climax strokes. I fall on top of her, my mouth slightly crusted with her love. She does the unbelievable and kisses me, tasting herself from my lips. The slightly sour and bitter taste combined with the heady aroma, flavoured our deep kiss. 

     I roll off her and lie beside her on my sides, a leg and an arm draped around her, revelling in the intimacy; the way our skins exchanged both pleasure and love, feeding each other the warmth. 

     "Happy Easter," she says, but I'm already slipping into a dazed dreamless sleep.

The Interview

     Val opened the recoding app on her phone and set it beside the coffee mugs that stood on the glass top of the Ottoman. She had her notepad on the ready too, to jot down her own thoughts as the interview proceeded. Harriet Reeding, the activist was sitting beside her on the large sofa with her legs folded beneath her on the cushion. Val smiled at her, pleasantries exchanged and coffees half-drunk, it was time to get on with the questions. 

     "So, you love each other?"

     "Duh!"

     "I know, but please, do bear with me. When did you fall in love?"

     "Hmm..." A smile lights up her face, "It was the final year at college. She was such a bookish thing, and I was a total dunce then. I sought her out and asked her to tutor me, and in return I told her that she can come to the bars wherever I performed and have free drinks. And you know, one thing led to another and here we are, ten years later."

     Val's stubby pencil scribbled away on the pad while she listened. "You both got pregnant. Was that via IVF? 

     "Yeah. I gave birth to our son, Greg, 'n she, our daughter, Tess.

     "That's wonderful. How old are the two?"

     "Greg's four 'n Tess is two".

     "That's brave of you; to have another kid while the first one's still a toddler." Val was of the opinion that her two nephews and her niece were responsible for her younger sister's premature ageing.

     "Yeah, it was crazy at times, but we managed."

     "Okay, another silly question, but my editor's dying to know - who wears the pants in your relationship?"

     Harriet greeted the question with laughter. "Both of us," she said, mirth still lingering on her face, "I prefer jeans, and she wouldn't wear anything other than cotton."

     "That should satisfy her. So back to the serious questions. How did your parents take the news?" 

     "Mine were never around, and I doubt they even know I'm married. But hers were oof... You wouldn't believe the words her usually pleasant mum used. Her dad, though, was confused, and I was worried that he might collapse under the stress then, but he came around first, admittedly a couple of years later, but still that's something. Her mum still hasn't talked to her yet. That's one stubborn woman. And by the way, don't print that." 

     Val wrote down 'parents', and circled it. "Wow. That must have been quite some experience. How did Vanessa handle the rejection from her parents?"

     "God, it was awful. She cried every single night for months. And in the mornings, she'd wash up and go to work with dark circles around her eyes. She looked like a panda (Don't print this one too.) It wasn't right for a mother to say those things about her own daughter. It just isn't. What kind of a mother would resent her child's happiness? That's madness, that."

     "I can imagine. But truth be told, mothers are humans too, and it's not obligatory for them to love their children. I'm glad you both love yours."

     "Yeah, we do. I mean, why wouldn't we? Sure they throw tantrums but hey, they are just kids. It's up to us to teach them to be loving, caring and responsible. That's what a parent's there for."

     "Yes, quite right. Does your own childhood influence your thoughts on this?"

     "Sure. I mean, I had to fend for myself. I made a lot of mistakes. Sometimes I wonder how I even made it to adulthood. And then She happened. Man, She was such a rudder."

     "You were gay before you met her?"

     "Yup. She wasn't though. I bent her." She laughed as she said it.

     "You have voiced your support for same sex marriages. And you have led a few rallies too. What stage do you think our country is at right now, in accepting same sex couples?"

     "We have the media's attention and nearly everyone's aware. It will be quite some time before we are completely accepted. Yeah, we'll get there." 

     "Do you extend your support to the entire spectrum - BTQ?" 

     "Yeah, definitely!" Harriet's answer came fast, like she'd practised this, "People shouldn't be forced to conform to one thing or 'nother. Each of us is different. Tryin' to be anything else can be very frustrating and sometimes even hellish. We should be free to choose our own paths. Just because it isn't the same as that of the majority doesn't mean that they shouldn't. Love, man, it chooses for you. And if you lose it then what's the point of being a human?"

     "Love, such a precious thing." Val pushed up her glasses back up her nose. "Just to be clear, do you support consensual deviations? Multi-amory, BDSM, Swingers and such?"

     "Not my kinks, but yeah. It's the same thing. If that's what you want you should do it as long as the other person or persons are ok with it too. No one but those directly involved get to have a say. It's their life. The only one they've got. And to live it in agony of self denial is just not right."

     "I want to revisit a previous aspect of this interview. The parents. What do you think they felt when you both came out?"

     "Fear of the society." Harriet seemed to be in her element. "I believe her mother lashed out because she was afraid of what other people might say. She imagined that her daughter would become an outcast or something. And she's right up to an extent, but that's just a phase. People soon realise that we are still the same after some time. We are still capable of doing our jobs, paying the taxes, and stuff."

     "Yes, fear. It's such a potent motivator. And you are a parent, how do you feel now?"

     "I'll defend my babies' rights. I'll be supportive."

     Val nodded at Harriet's answer, and she took a sip of the lukewarm coffee while she considered how best to phrase her next question. "A hypothetical question. Let's say that your children fall in love with each other, would you allow that?"

     "What! No. I mean, no one falls in love with a sibling. Growing up together just sucks the romantic aspect out. That's just not possible."

     The outburst form Harriet was a mild surprise. "Why not? It has happened, is still happening. Besides it's just a hypothetical question." 

     "But they are brother and sister." Harriet sounded as if that clarified her point.

     "Bigoted straight people say something similar about same sex relationships. Kids are curious. They tend to explore their body and if one finds the other's body different there's bound to be even more curiosity. And assuming that you raise them in a sex positive environment it still doesn't change things."

     "Incest is not right. In any form."

     "Why do you think that? If it's consensual, what do you think is wrong with it?"

     "Hello, congenital diseases."

     "A simple problem to overcome. IVF. I'm sure, in about a decade or two, we will have advanced far enough to eliminate the possibility of a congenital disease. And moreover, not everyone who are in a relationship look forward to having a child."

     "You are twisting my words." Harriet crossed her arms and leaned back, eyeing Val with suspicion.
 
     Val knew Harriet was running out of defences, and she pressed in further, "No, I'm not. There are people out there, old and young, who walk around carrying the guilt of their thoughts and desires. Don't they deserve happiness? And imagine how much more productive they can be at work if they do not have those emotional burdens to carry, if their love was not a stigma any more."

     Having said her piece, she folded her little notepad with the pencil bookmarking the page and sat up erect, leaning towards Harriet a little, watching the woman intently for a reply, but Harriet disappointed her

     "Do you practice incest?"

     "No. The issue is, should we tolerate it?"

The Other Necklace

     

     
     I am almost done. For the final piece of my ensemble, I reach for the red jewel box and snap it open. Resting on the black velvet cushion inside is a pearl necklace, it shimmers in the bright light of the small bulbs that border the dressing-table mirror; they shift colours: pink, silver and snow; like dreams captured in beads. I take it by the gold clasp and let the pearls slide across my fingers. So smooth, so perfect. As I brush aside the hair at my nape to clasp it around my neck, I see him come up behind me, in the mirror. He rests his hands on the high, ornate back of my chair.

     "The pearls don't do you justice," he says, a sly smile plays across his lips. 

      I can't see his eyes though, they are draped in shadow. He takes the necklace from my acquiescing hands and leans forward to place it back in its velvet womb. The smell of aftershave washes over my face. So close, he sets off a domino effect of awareness that spreads from my extremities and into my core. I can feel the wetness soak my most intimate clothing. I was already highly strung in anticipation of the evening's party at our house; a small private gathering of our friends, the ones who were willing and those who were curious.

     He straightens and smooths out his black suit. I barely notice it as I sit there hypnotised until his warm hand rests on my bare shoulders. I jolt back to reality. Desire dominates both the background and the fore. I want him, I want him even before the party down stairs begins. But I'll wait, and let this smoulder. I know it will be worth it. 

      "I want you to wear something unique tonight. Pearls just won't cut it."

      I turn away from the mirror and face him. I look into his dark eyes, the smile accentuates the look of possession in them.

      "On your knees."

      I comply, my eyes still locked in gaze with his. Once on my knees, I don't move, I don't attempt to reach for his pants, but I can sense the urgency within his shorts straining to burst out. He unbuckles his belt, it comes off with a rapid rustle as the leather escapes the loops. The heavy buckle lands with a soft thud on the thick carpet. In a flash he unzips the fly and reaches within to pull out his hard, veined, cock. I break eye contact to look it, the pinkish violet head stretches beyond the cover of the foreskin. A thin smear of pre-cum coats the puckered sensitive skin around the eye. I wet my lips involuntarily, the smooth texture of the lip gloss greets my tongue.

      He cups a hand under my chin and draws my mouth towards his cock. I open wide to accommodate his girth, the salt sweet taste of the pre-cum fuses with the tip of my tongue. Without warning he thrusts forward, I react fast so as not to hurt him. He slides half his length in; I gag and salivate all over his cock. He pulls out slowly, I apply pressure on the rim of his head with my tongue. I know he loves it. And as his head retreats back to my lips, I flick the tip of my tongue onto his frenulum. I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

      He starts to pump my mouth with earnest. I try to keep pace with his sliding cock, without resorting to use my hands. He didn't instruct me to. The saliva starts dripping down my chin. It trickles down in two or three rivulets down my throat and over the top of my bust. The thin lace over my nether lips are ineffective in holding the viscous moisture, the slickness coats my tightly pressed thighs. I moan my pleasure into his cock. Still I keep my hands by my sides, like the good girl that I am.

     His thrusts get deeper and faster, and a little erratic. He cups my face in his hands and shoves deep, right up to his pubes. I gag and place my hands on his thighs to brace myself. I can feel the tension build in his muscles and reach their limit. He withdraws and points his cock at my saliva coated neck. A thick, hot spurt chases away the coolness left behind by the saliva trail. Then another, and another, till his throbbing cock depletes it's load. I catch my breath, in short gasps and tilt my head up to see his face. It's serene. The glazed look clears and he looks down at me and he smiles. Not that playful smile, but a vulnerable one. I return it. 

     He uses his shorts to wipe the wetness off his cock and stuffs it back into his trousers. He picks up the belt and guides it through the loops and buckles it. All the while I remain on the floor, my toes curled in an attempt to control my desires. Once he's done, he lets me rise me up by clasping my shoulders. The cum has congealed a little. The thick globs that trailed down by throat soaked the top of my dress, but the trail itself is visible, like a fancy choker that adorned only the front of the throat. He wipes away my chin and draws me closer for a kiss. I slip my tongue into his mouth and feed him his own flavour. We let our tongues play for a while and pull away to catch our breath. His eyes travel down to my chest where the dress reveal an ample portion of my bust. I know he enjoys the way my chest heaves, my bust trying to escape the confines of my tight evening dress.

     "These look much better on you than those pearls."

     I smile. With an uncharacteristic shyness I lean on to his shoulders to hide the happiness I feel in his satisfaction.

     Below the doorbell rings. The guests are here, there's still The Party to host. And without doubt everyone will notice my necklace, their eyes will linger on them much longer than they would have on the pearls if I had gone with them.

(To be cont.)

Fallen Angel

Photography : Sergey Parishkov

Wings of servitude withered away, 

Burnt by courage in a stunning display. 

Pain so intense, I must endure; 

Afore lay freedom, my life secure.

Angel, without her power of flight.

Tragic! Others perceived my plight. 

Never again the rush of wind in my hair, 

On an errand in the service of another.

Fools! For though I was winged 

My fate in another's hand weighed. 

Poisoned gift, it was that I discarded 

I'm my own is all that I regarded.